


chat noir

by swancharmings



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swancharmings/pseuds/swancharmings
Summary: Harvey makes a friend. (Darvey if you squint, set sometime after 2x10)
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	chat noir

**Author's Note:**

> Silly little ficlet that wouldn’t leave me :)
> 
> Thank you as always to my betas, Heather and Alyssa!

It’s black, and tiny, and drenched to the bone, mewling loudly in the alley as he waits for Ray to pull up to the curb.

Harvey’s never considered himself a cat person. Has never considered himself a _pet_ person, period. They had a dog growing up, a big German shepherd who gave slobbery kisses and climbed on his bed, but he was six when they moved closer to the city and the dog didn’t follow. There just weren’t enough memories there to attract him to the idea of having a pet, if his lifestyle alone wasn’t enough to deter him.

But the little thing has sidled up to his leg, purring noisily and fuck it. He can’t leave it here. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not heartless.

The car pulls up and Harvey slides into the back, the fluffy, wet kitten cradled in his suit jacket.

“There’s a pet store on 14th,” Ray offers.

Harvey nods. “Thanks, Ray.”

———

It blends into his couch. He wouldn’t even know it was there if it wasn’t for the big green eyes peering up at him.

He’d purchased an assortment of cat food, hurtling the bags on the counter in front of the teenage cashier as she nervously rang him out. Litter, too, and a box, which he’d put outside on the balcony for the time being. He has no idea if this cat is even house-trained.

Hell, _he’s_ not even house-trained.

It stretches and claws at the leather and Harvey jumps up abruptly.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hey. No.” He scoops him — he’d checked — under the arms and sets him down on the floor. “Fuck, what do cats like to play with?” he mutters to himself, running a hand over his face.

He takes a flashlight out of the closet and wiggles it around. A black blur skitters across the hardwood, left and right and left again, a flurry of energy playing offense, and he grins.

He’s met his match.

———

The sense of wonder is short-lived.

_So far, so good_ , he thinks as he fastens his tie. No pawing at his face, no pillows destroyed, toilet paper roll still intact.

It’s when he steps in the puddle in the kitchen — barefoot — that all hell breaks loose.

“Son of a bitch!”

He should’ve left the damn thing outside where it belonged.

The better part of the morning is spent washing the floor, after which he hops back in the shower, cursing black cats and their bad luck. Thinks about dropping it off at the local shelter, four bags of food and all.

Harvey tugs on his jacket as the kitten nuzzles his ankle, obnoxiously purring before it rolls over onto his foot.

He stares it down.

It blinks back at him.

He tells Ray to drive him straight to the office instead.

———

“Donna? What are you doing here?”

She holds up the Layton files, unamused. “This is the last time I bring you your homework.”

Harvey rolls his eyes and lets her in.

“I told you, I already closed that deal.”

“And I told _you_ —“ she stops cold, and Harvey’s about to gloat until he follows her befuddled gaze to the kitchen counter, which is now adorned with his furry roommate.

“Hey!” Harvey scolds, and the kitten starts, jumping down instantly. “I told you no! Jesus Christ.”

Donna’s still in shock. Her mouth opens and closes as though it’s operated by a string.

He turns to her, slightly embarrassed. “I got a cat.”

“You got a cat.”

“Listen, he was out in the cold and I couldn’t just leave —“

“No, Harvey,” Donna shakes her head. “You don’t have to explain anything.” She bends down to scratch behind its ears. The kitten purrs warmly, and _of course_ he’s instantly drawn to Donna. Who wouldn’t be? Harvey was entranced from the second they met.

“Hi sweetheart,” Donna coos, rubbing under his chin. “You’re a good boy, huh?”

Harvey frowns. “He’s not doing anything.”

“Don’t be jealous. It’s unbecoming.”

“I’m not _jealous_ ,” he disputes, taking a generous swig of his scotch.

Donna stands back up and pats his arm. “You’re a good boy too, Harvey.”

He tries desperately not to let the whispered words affect him.

“Thing purrs like a motorboat,” he comments.

Donna looks at him incredulously. “ _Thing_?”

He raises his eyebrows, gestures to the animal at their feet.

“You didn’t even name him?”

Harvey shrugs, non-committal. “Well —“

“Jesus, Harvey.”

“I didn’t have time,” he scoffs.

“Tell me you’ve haven’t had him for more than a day.”

Harvey doesn’t say anything. Donna grins.

“I knew it. You’re whipped, Harvey Specter.”

“Stop it,” he protests weakly, because it’s hard to stay mad at her when she’s smiling and wagging a finger in his face.

“You are,” she sing-songs, teasing him. “But the littlest Specter still needs a name.”

He opens his mouth and she immediately cuts him off.

“ _Not_ Michael. Or Jordan. Or _Maverick_ ,” Donna shudders.

Harvey smirks. “Iceman?”

“Not a chance.”

“Hey, it’s my cat.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the kitten roll across the floor.

“Santiago,” Harvey offers, and Donna looks up, furrows her brow.

“ _A Few Good Men_?”

He shrugs. “Too weak to fight for himself. Up to me to defend him.”

Donna softens then, gives him a look he’s only ever seen her wear when she’s proud of him. Leaving the DA’s office, attending his father’s funeral, defending Mike to Jessica. He shifts under her gaze as though he’s standing on unfamiliar ground.

“Hmmm.” Donna scoops up the kitten and scrutinizes him for a beat. “I think it suits him.”

“Yeah?” Harvey asks earnestly, because her opinion matters to him. It’s mattered for a long time.

“Yeah.” Their eyes meet again, and if a cat is all it takes to make her look at him _like that_ then maybe he should’ve considered adopting ages ago.

“Black cats are a symbol of Halloween, you know,” Donna muses as Santiago tumbles out of her arms and into her lap.

“Yeah, that doesn’t make me like the holiday any more.”

“You’re no fun.” Leaning toward the lump resting on her legs, she repeats in a whisper, “he’s no fun.”

“Already turning him against me.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need my help with that.” She snickers and moves the subject of their conversation to the couch, straightening and brushing cat hair off her dress.

He hands Donna her purse as she jokes, “Just try to keep him alive.”

“I think I can manage.”

Donna drops her voice. “I know the goldfish story.”

Goddamn Marcus. “Get out.”

She laughs, the sound bright and rich. “Good night, Harvey.” Pauses in the doorway. “Seriously, he’s sweet.”

He thinks she’s about to say more — say _what_ exactly, he doesn’t know — until she simply nods and walks away.

He shuts the door, blows out a breath and turns back to his four-legged friend, who is now staring forlornly at Donna’s empty seat.

Harvey can’t help but snort in self-contempt. _You and me both, buddy_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! For some reason, the thought of Harvey trying to deal with a tiny kitten was super amusing to me, and I had to explore it further (and, naturally, I had to explore Donna’s reaction to it, too).
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts, comments and critiques are welcomed!


End file.
